


contact

by serenfire



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Newt and Credence get their groove on, Pickett speaks English and mainly uses it to insult people, Touch Starved Credence, taking care of animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 08:06:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8704339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenfire/pseuds/serenfire
Summary: “Please,” Credence says, his Adam’s apple bobbing, so close to Newt that he feels the heat of their entwined hands. “I really want this.”Newt agrees. “Right here?” he whispers into Credence’s ear. “You know, I happen to have a first-class bed upstairs.”





	

“Please,” Credence says, his lips bitten, eyes wide, clothes rumpled and even his posture indicative of standing on the precipice of something more, of an opportunity that can only be taken once. “I really want this.”

Newt takes a calming breath and wonders how he got here, in a way that is indicative of how stunned he is about the entire event and also wondering how any of the amazing things he has been a part of have ever happened to him.

The trip back to London is a bit over four days and MACUSA had paid for a first-class room on the ship for Newt, probably hoping to sweeten the deal to get him out of the United States as fast as possible. Newt hoped to spend most of the time in his well-furnished room on the high seas in his case, among his animals, purposefully avoiding thinking of Frank and all the others that decided America would be a better home. Only an hour in, he heard a knock on his door, and had opened to to see Credence Barebone, a man he hadn’t thought escaped from the battle in the subways.

Until after the sun had dipped down past the horizon, Credence had continued to confide in him. “I tried to go to Miss Goldstein,” he explains and he stands in the middle of the most luxurious room he has ever seen, hunched and awkward and glancing at his shaking hands every so often to establish that he is alive and not a giant cloud any longer, “but I can’t seem to get in the magical part of the Magical Congress building, and she only came out to see you off, so I thought that maybe you--” He hesitates. “It’s nothing.”

“No, please, sit,” Newt protests, clearing his non-case belongings off a chair and motioning for Credence to be informal and unafraid of consequences for once in his life.

Credence sits, visibly deflating. “I snuck on board,” he blurts, “so if any--guards, or anyone comes looking for me, is it true that they’ll throw me off?”

“Of course not,” Newt assures him. “I’ll vouch for you. Say you’re my...guest.” He resolutely doesn’t think of what any patrolling guards would think of his guest and he sharing a single-bed room, but international muggle law can’t possibly apply to that. Could it?

“Would you do that, Mr. Scamander?” Credence says. “Thank you, so much. No one’s ever vouched for me before.”

“It’s Newt,” Newt insists. “Please. I’m not your--elder.” He bites the word ‘superior’ off in his mouth. If he has a chance to repair this man’s fractured past, then hopefully he will never have superiors again. With all luck, Credence will become a wizard who is firm and self-aware and able to stop the heinous crimes committed to him from ever happening again.

“Newt,” Credence says, as if testing the word on his tongue, as if it’s the first time someone has gifted him with the ability to address them personally, “thank you. How could I ever repay you?”

“Well,” Newt says, “do you want to see my fantastic beasts?”

*

Credence is a natural at interacting with his magical creatures. Not only does Pickett finally detach himself from Newt’s jacket to sit on Credence’s shoulder and insult his haircut for an hour before returning to his family on his tree, but the Occamies seem to like him too, a few curling beneath his jacket to rest around his waist or on his arm.

“Oh,” Credence says as a few crawl up his arm, purring with great contentment. “Um, Mr. Scama--Newt, sir, what are they doing?”

“They are about to start hibernation,” Newt informs him, scratching the remaining Occamies behind their heads where they like it, “and so are attracted to as much body warmth as possible. I guess you are just exceptionally hot.”

He can’t tell in the magical dusk light, but he could swear Credence blushes before he turns away to feel the Occamy purring around his stomach and the other poking its head out of his sleeve.

Newt curses his slip of the tongue. No matter how much he privately agrees with Pickett’s assessment of Credence’s hair, for the past few hours, he has seen Credence in an environment that hopefully offered only love and support, gently instructing him on what to feed which creature. Credence has begun to shine. His posture, wracked from years of fearing his every move, hasn’t changed, but he’s smiled at petting a Kneazle, and picked up a Flobberworm, and Newt doesn’t know if the mix of nerves in his stomach is from pride or happiness or something deeper.

After they exhaust the pail of raw meat feeding the species around the different ecosystems, Newt is finishing feeding a salamander some peppers as a treat, and he stumbles upon the arctic ecosystem, just as Credence touches the orb with the obscurus in it.

Newt is reminded of Jacob, of how the muggle approached the obscurus spirit with much the same gusto as all the other creatures, not associating the dark spirit with untapped anger and the whisp of a former soul snuffed out.

But Credence knows, and he touches the bubble regardless. His hands don’t pierce it, and the black inky substance is drawn to him, like calling to like. Newt knows the moment Credence can feel the obscurus touching him, as he shudders and a tear falls down his face.

Newt stays very still, but Credence still knows he’s entered. He turns and says, voice cracking, “I can feel her soul.”

“I know,” Newt says, and all the raw memories of Sudan, of trying to extract the obscurus from the girl’s dying frame, of getting all the unchecked anger and the poison within her body out, but with it, removing the magic, as the black spirit holds both in its all-consuming claws. Without her magic, she couldn’t hold on to life.

“You couldn’t save her,” Credence says. “In the subway, you comforted me by telling me that you knew someone like me--you knew her--but you couldn’t help her. You didn’t know how to help me.”

“I know,” Newt whispers, and he’s crying, too, with the guilt of the past on his shoulders. “But I did what all wizards in the history of the world did, and I tried to remove it from her. I was trying to rid her of the parasite, but the parasite contained her life force, too. They were one and the same.”

“It’s the same inside me,” Credence says, and halts. His jaw works. He’s never thought about his powers after they manifested, after Mr. Graves turned his back on him and revealed how he was just the same as everyone else who had used him--that he had just acted in the revenge welling in his soul, the same force calling his magic to life calling the demon out of the darkness, that he wasn’t able to think. “But I’m not dead.”

“No,” Newt agrees.

“Will I be?” Credence asks.

“Not if I can help it.”

“But you couldn’t save the girl in Sudan,” Credence says. “I can feel the last shards of her soul--this is the only part of her still alive, and it’s the part that killed her.”

“I think the way to get rid of an obscurus is not try to distance it from the host--in this case, you. Then we’re just treating magic like your mother and the New Salemers treated magic, like something to rid yourself of. Taking it out removes an essential part of yourself. What I believe you need to do is use it, learn it, and integrate it into yourself.”

“I’ll never be a--a normal wizard,” Credence says.

“No,” Newt agrees. “You’re far too powerful for that.”

Credence’s eyes widen. “I’m--I’m powerful--oh.” He doesn’t meet Newt’s eyes and stares at the snowy ground, his footsteps fresh against the continuously falling snow.

“Don’t mind him,” Pickett says, and he’s somehow still on Credence’s jacket despite looking for all intents and purposes like he decided to stay with the rest of his kind. The Bowtruckle winks conspiratorially. “He always compliments the wizards he likes.”

Newt sighs.

Credence is definitely blushing now, evident on his pale face against the snowy backdrop. “Is it true?” he asks, almost breathless, fidgeting in his tight clothes.

Newt nods several times before he can make his voice obey his commands. It was easier when everyone found him annoying and wouldn’t actually confront him about his easily-won affection to any person who would give him the time of day. “Yes.”

If Newt could focus on anything else than his own internal despair, he would notice that Credence is also having trouble finding words.

Credence says, so soft that Newt can almost not hear him against the obscurus’ movements, “So that doesn’t make you a freak? Make--make me a freak?”

“No,” Newt says, more firmly than he’s said anything in his life. “What your adopted mother and the New Salemers told you isn’t true. Nothing about yourself makes you a freak. You are not a freak, Credence.”

They’re so close now, as Newt clasps Credence’s hand to enforce his point. Credence doesn’t meet Newt’s eyes, but looks about to his lips, with a gesture so subtly different from his earlier shaking that Newt can only barely tell it’s desire--but oh, the desire is there, hot and greedy.

“Please,” Credence says, his Adam’s apple bobbing, so close to Newt that he feels the heat of their entwined hands. “I really want this.”

Newt agrees. “Right here?” he whispers into Credence’s ear. “You know, I happen to have a first-class bed upstairs.”

*

Credence leads their movements as they climb up the ladder out of the case. Even as he looks around in awe at the furnishings on the ship, the wood panelled room and the goosefeather bed, he moves with a singular purpose, to touch Newt as much as possible.

Newt leans into the touches, their mouths meeting in a hurried explosion, Credence searching and exploring. Credence says, as he reels back to catch his breath, “I’ve never done this before. But I know I want to.”

“And you can,” Newt says, licking his lips in return and clutching Credence by his waist--altogether too thin for a full-grown man--and leaning against the bed that feels like floating in a cloud.

Credence meets their mouths again, gasping on his tongue, as Newt brushes his teeth against his bottom lip. He comes back for air again and blotchy patterns of excitement, embarrassment, and marks Newt left on him pattern his chin, and Newt leans back in to mouth at his long, lean neck.

Credence whines, and Newt pulls him on top of him when he lies down on the bed, exploring the spots on his collarbone that make him gasp and ache tightly in his trousers. Credence collapses around him, covering Newt with his lanky frame, his arms surrounding Newt’s painfully aroused body, receptive and pushing against the tension Newt is offering.

“Please,” Credence babbles, words half-choked off as he keens and holds onto Newt’s hair. “Please, it’s so good--”

“You want more?” Newt asks, his own lips swollen and painfully aware of how Credence clutches him, ruts against him.

“Yes,” Credence says. “Yes, please, Newt.”

Newt reaches down and unbuttons Credence’s trousers, as slowly as possible takes his hardened cock out, watching for any sign of uncomfort, anything that would hint as to Credence not enjoying himself.

But Credence is enjoying himself, so much, looking at Newt with a sly smile that Newt’s only ever seen when he was an obscurial and devastating New York, and just now looking at his creatures, the outpouring of warmth and acceptance, and right now, fully directed at Newt. Credence says, “Right there, yes--” and Newt, still looking at Credence’s face, touches his cock, a bare brush of his fingers against the skin and Credence is bucking, muffling his whines in his fist.

“Make as much noise as you want,” Newt tells him. “We’re in first class. No one will pry. You don’t need to fear making noise; it’s the best way to express yourself.”

“How are you still coherent?” Credence whines, and Newt takes his length fully in hand, giving it a stroke and listening to Credence lose his compunction. His voice tones down to small wavers and breathy moans as Newt covers his entire cock, stroking at a regular pace, the regularity of it keeping Credence focused on the pleasure, on the sensation.

Credence’s hands skim Newt’s chest and hesitate to skirt lower, even as Newt has no hesitation about being touched.

“What do you want?” Newt asks, and there isn’t even pressure against his cock, so why is he so turned on, overly sensitive, his concentration focused solely on the heat of Credence’s hands and how they hesitate at his stomach.

“I want to see you,” Credence bites his lip. “Touch you. Repay--ahh--what you are doing to me.”

“You aren’t required to repay me,” Newt says. “I’m giving this freely.” He twists his hand coming up on Credence’s cock, and Credence jerks his hips.

“But I want to,” Credence says.

Newt’s stomach fills with hot desire as he watches Credence, so much more open and different from only a day ago, state his wants with such conviction. His hands tremble as he tears his shirt and trousers off, at least one button popping in the process. Newt kicks his clothes off the bed and shivers in the newly cold air, surrounded by Credence’s large hands running up and down his chest.

“You’re so smooth,” Credence marvels, looking at his chest. “So unmarked.”

If this was anyone else, Newt would try and make a joke about resolving that problem, asking his partner to mark him, but Newt is very aware how Credence is still fully dressed and not making any moves to change it, that Credence is likely marked and marred by years of abuse, that he might not know the possibility that someone doesn’t carry around the same scars he does.

Credence catches his breath, and withdraws his hands, and Newt knows he didn’t voice any of that aloud, but can see the struggle going on inside the man: that Newt doesn’t look like him, that likely no one looks like him.

Newt touches Credence’s arm lightly to get his attention. “Hey,” he says, and guides Credence’s fingers to his underarm, where visible scar tissue runs from his armpit to his elbow, letting the man trace it himself. “I got this scar separating Frank--my Thunderbird--from his captors.”

“Did Frank do it?” Credence’s voice is quiet.

“No,” Newt promises. “The captors had knives. But don’t worry; they’re all gone now and can’t hurt anyone again.”

Credence continues to trace Newt’s scar tissue, and Newt is holding his underarm quite close to his face, and Credence is staring at it so intently, his fingers rubbing up and down, that Newt can only think about how close their bodies are and how flushed with blood his cock is.

“And this,” Newt continues, pointing to a chip taken out of his ear. “This was done by a regular old penguin whom I accidentally offended. No harm done.”

“But it cut your ear,” Credence says. “Harm was done.”

“I forgave it,” Newt says, and he thinks he may be talking about more than just the penguin now. “It harmed me, and I grew to forgive it. You’re--obviously not required to do the same, it’s not really a comparable situation, forget I mentioned it.”

“No,” Credence whispers, still nuzzling Newt’s ear between his fingers, and Newt has very inconvenient erogenous zones where his scars lie. “It’s a good thing--to forgive. But you’re very naked, and I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

“That’s fine,” Newt says. “Um, feel free to look at me.” All his recurring thoughts related to body image spring to mind as Credence sits back on his heels and looks at Newt, completely naked, half hard and blushing down his chest.

Credence likes what he sees, because his hands are running down Newt’s chest again, fingers slipping into his curly pubic hair, down his thighs, meeting the other myriad of scars on his legs.

Credence looks beautiful, between Newt’s legs, his fly open and his own cock hard, but ignoring it to fully focus on Newt. He looks devourable.

“Credence,” Newt breathes, “would it be desirable for me to put my mouth on you?”

“Your mouth on me--on my--oh.” If his cheeks weren’t bright red before, they are now, as Credence stutters. “Yes. Of course.” He scrambles back to sit, legs spread, as Newt leans forward, pressing his palm to his own cock to relieve the pressure, as he guides Credence’s legs over his shoulders and mouths along his thighs until he reaches the straining length, precome dripping from the engorged head, shivering with anticipation.

Newt looks up into Credence’s eyes and takes the head of it in his mouth, letting his tongue sink down on it, as Credence’s thighs tense around him and he struggles to not jerk all the way in.

Newt speculates what would happen if the neighbors heard this, if they decided to come and investigate. The door to the room isn’t locked, and they could walk in, all muggles with their senses of propriety, outraged at Newt’s mouth around Credence’s cock, Credence lost in his own world of pleasure and need. A thrill of satisfaction runs through Newt’s gut as he goes down deeper on Credence’s cock, knowing that any onlookers or eavesdroppers would know exactly what he is doing, exactly how he is pleasuring his--Credence.

He’s not about to presume anything more between himself and Credence that isn’t there. British wizards, with customs so ingrained in history, would assume that they would be together for the rest of their living days after this, and American wizards would probably want it to be government-regulated, but here, between worlds, on the ocean, it’s just the two of them, connected deeper than anyone could be.

Newt wants to enjoy it while it lasts, fisting his own cock as he swallows Credence and bobs up and down, wants to not presume that this man, fresh into the wizarding life with an ultimatum still hanging over his head in the form of an obscurus, sees Newt as anything more than a helpful hand, someone who is equally as willing and the first to accept him in a long time.

Newt wants to be as much a part of that as he can be.

Above him, Credence stops making noise, all sound dissolved, and when Newt looks up again, Credence is almost about to lose it, the muscles in his face preparing for one final surge, and Newt pulls off and finishes Credence with his hands running up and down, leaning up to kiss Credence as he finishes, silently enjoying the crest of joy in the shaking of his mouth against Newt, hot and heavy and lost in the experience.

As soon as Credence breathes into his mouth, Newt finishes as well, groaning deep in his throat as he pants against Credence’s lips, shaking against Credence’s clothed frame.

He extracts himself from Credence after it’s over, as the man lies back in the bed softer than humanly possible and rests in the moment. Newt looks at the terrible haircut, now mussed and their doings evident, the marks on his lips and cheek and collar bone, and rests in a job well done.

He says, “Do you feel tired?”

“More than I have in my life,” Credence admits, slipping his cock back into his trousers and hurriedly looking to see that everything was in order.

“Feel free to rest here,” Newt says, gesturing to the bed, and Credence takes his invitation, resting his head on one of the pillows on the giant bed.

Newt watches him, post-coital, eyes drooping, the light in the lamp still on.

“Well?” Credence asks Newt, looking at the empty pillow next to him. “Are you going to join me?”

“Yes,” Newt snaps into action, pulling his clothes back on and turning out the light. Outside of the cabin window, the horizon is dark, and it is past time to fall into bed. This time, he gets to share it with a man special to him, with a man who wants to continue to be with Newt, at least come morning time.

As he gets into the heavenly bed and under the covers, Credence reaches out and holds his hand. He is still radiating body heat, and Newt finds himself drawn closer.

“Thank you,” Credence whispers, as Newt tucks himself next to the man. “For everything.”

“It was my pleasure,” Newt says. “It really was.”

There is silence for a bit, and Newt enjoys the rock of the ship back and forth on the waves, calming to his very soul, and begins to fade away, remembering the feeling of Credence’s mouth on his own.

“Newt,” Credence says suddenly, “are you still awake?”

“Yes,” Newt whispers.

“I’m--I’m sorry, it’s just that, I can never sleep if I’m not in my old bed at--at home. Not even after what we did.”

Newt considers. “I have some potions and a spell or two that could work,” he says.

“No, thank you,” Credence says. “But--would you tell me what will happen after we get to shore? Just tell me a story, please.”

“Well,” Newt considers. “We’re going to dock in three days, and before then I’m going to edit my manuscript of my book.”

“You have a book?” Credence’s voice is heavy and deep when he’s sleepy, and Newt’s body responds to his tone, wanting to kiss the voice so that the tone reverberates in his own throat, hoarse from the night’s proclivities.

“I’m writing about the magical creatures in my case,” Newt explains, and reaches the hand that’s not grasping Credence’s hand up to stroke his hair.

Credence almost purrs himself, shuffling closer to Newt until his head is buried in Newt’s chest. “Please tell me more,” he says, muffled in Newt’s shirt.

Newt swings one leg over Credence’s so he can surround him, so that he can touch the man who so desperately wants his touch, and continues to comb through his hair. “The creatures are my life,” he says. “I was working in the Ministry of Magic, in Britain, but it stifled me, because I couldn’t explore. So I left, and I visited places you’ve never dreamed of and found the most wonderful beings on earth.”

“Mmm,” Credence yawns against Newt’s chest, and Newt wants to hug him forever. “Will you take me there sometime?”

“If you like,” Newt says. “The top priority is training you how to use magic, and then we can set our holiday destinations.”

“Will the Ministry of Magic try to kill me, like the American Congress?” Credence asks.

“Of course not,” Newt says. “You’re under my protection. The Ministry isn’t as backwards as MACUSA, anyways, and if nothing else, they’ll want to keep you alive and train you to become one of their top wizards just to spite America.”

“Mmm,” Credence agrees. “Will I have to use a wand?”

“It’s tradition,” Newt says, “but you’re more than powerful enough to use wandless magic. I’m not Ollivander, though, so I can’t tell you for sure.” He likes the feeling of being around Credence, the man breathing contentedly into the crook of his neck as he strokes his hair and his back. The man needs so much touch, so much love, and Newt is more than willing to give it to him.

“And then what?” Credence prompts.

“I’ll publish my book,” Newt decides. “I want to start a movement in the wizarding community to protect magical beasts instead of hunting them. I suppose I’ll travel back to America to give one to Tina in person, though, since she specifically asked for it. I guess travelling by the ocean isn’t that bad, especially when we’re travelling in first class.”

Credence doesn’t respond, having melted into Newt’s arms in the bed that’s lighter than air, and Newt extracts himself from the man a little so that Credence can lay his head down on the pillow, and Newt presses a kiss to his forehead before settling into his own pillow.

“Good night,” Newt whispers to Credence.

Credence smiles in his sleep.

 

fin.

 

**Author's Note:**

> please check out my [tumblr](http://www.bi-dianaprince.tumblr.com)!


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